


The Same Deep Water As You

by PlaneJane



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaneJane/pseuds/PlaneJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A violent storm has ravaged the forests around Camelot.  Arthur takes Merlin to clear up the damage but Merlin ends up overdoing it and Arthur has to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Same Deep Water As You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Livejournal in January 2011.

If anyone could clean up this mess, it was Merlin. And for once he agreed with Arthur on the matter, with enthusiasm.

No one in Camelot had ever seen a wind that coiled and spiralled as this one had, lifting trees like they were dried up twigs and discarding them carelessly in its wake. Whole swathes of forest were devastated by the storm as it cleared a ragged path which started in the high villages far off in the west and skimmed a vicious blow that cracked and crumbled the top of the city wall at the east gate before continuing on, finally dying out somewhere to the north beyond the borders of Camelot. 

There was cleaning up to be done in the city, but most pressing was the worsening drought that had followed in several of the villages that lay low beyond the edges of the forest. Upon inspection, Arthur had ascribed the dwindling of the rivers to felled trees, higher up, that had blocked the flow of several streams that fed into the water courses further down. 

Without a word to anyone regarding their mission, Arthur and Merlin set off before daybreak, on horseback, with nothing more than swords and provisions for two days. They started at the bottom edge of the forest, where the water was bleeding out over the banks and blackening the soil of the forest floor. It was impossible to take the horses all the way, the mud was too deep, so Merlin stripped off his boots, rolled up his breeches and walked in carefully measured steps until he was a stone’s throw from the corpse of an ancient oak, fractured and fallen across the shallow river.

It was still new to Arthur; a wondrous, uplifting sight to behold, as Merlin lifted his arm, spread his palm and _commanded_ husky and low, _“Tréow ábregda,”_ while his eyes glowed more golden than summer sunlight. The trunk was lifted, steadier than if it had been raised by the arms of twenty strong men and the toil of a dozen oxen, and dropped far from the bank. Not content to leave it there, Merlin sank to his knees, buried his hands in the sodden earth and to Arthur, who could only observe in awe and admiration, it looked as though he were literally pressing the water back down. 

When it seemed he was satisfied, Merlin stood and rubbed his hands on the back of his breeches and strolled, still barefoot, back to Arthur. He was grinning and despite the vivid blue that was back in his eyes he still looked golden - glowing and alive and joyous. Arthur embraced it and returned the smile as wide as his face would allow it, pressing down the lingering ache that reminded him that Merlin had existed as a sliver of his true self until so very recently. Arthur had liked him before, had a fondness for his sharpness and his insouciance that had grown and spilled over into what might be called love and was undoubtedly called devotion. Now, Arthur didn’t know what to call it. Merlin was the same as ever, only it was like he’d stepped into a bright light that illuminated every shadow and crease of him and Arthur could see him as he never had before. It wasn’t a question of naming something as fleeting as an emotion. It was as if Merlin was the space between each beat of his heart.

“Next one?” Merlin was brushing off his feet with an old rag and pulling on his hose and boots. 

“Not far that way,” Arthur said, pointing beyond a tangle of hawthorns. He started to roll up the map he’d drawn of all the places they needed to go, while Merlin got back on his horse, as casually as if he’d just dismounted to take a piss.

They went on like this all morning and into the afternoon, stopping only for a late and hasty lunch in a clearing half way up the rise to the peak of the forest. The breeze had picked up and settled on Merlin’s hair, tossing his lengthening curls in a playful tease over his head until it stood up like a cockerel’s comb. It didn’t matter how often he pushed it down, the wind just blew it back again.

“Someone’s taunting you, and for once it isn’t me.” Arthur tried laying his palm flat on Merlin’s head, but he could hardly keep it there all day, so he gave up and withdrew.

“I expect it’s because I’m interfering.” Merlin popped a piece of cheese in his mouth and smiled at the sky as he chewed.

Arthur laughed. “You’re _always_ interfering.”

“Lucky for you.”

“Yes, lucky for me.”

It was effortless then to pull Merlin close and kiss him. He slotted against Arthur’s chest and slid warm fingers around Arthur’s neck. If Arthur thought about pushing Merlin onto his back and tumbling in him in the warm grass, he could hardly be blamed. He didn’t get the chance though, as it was Merlin who moved to stand and there was definitely a hint of a sigh as he said, “We should press on. Look at the sun.”

It was nearing the horizon. 

“We don’t have to finish today. You look tired.”

“I’m fine. The water can’t come down until we free it at the top.”

On this last part of the mission the trails were erratic and riddled with dips and upended roots. In the end they had to dismount and lead the horses on foot, which slowed their progress and stole their air until it wheezed from their chests in rasping breaths. Arthur was flagging. Merlin looked like he was on the brink of falling down. 

“We should stop, Merlin.”

“No, I’m almost done.” He pointed on the map to the last two sites.

“Then I’ll start setting up camp.” Arthur picked out a high spot between the two blocked streams that was likely dry and sheltered. It was a short walk from where they stood, but uphill all the way.

Merlin had always been the one to set up camp, but Arthur wasn’t incapable. He fed and watered the horses, laid out bedrolls and readied their provisions. It was all going well, except the pile of wood which was supposed to be a roaring fire was proving to be stubbornly unresponsive. He hoped it wouldn’t be too much to ask Merlin to take care of it when he returned, though he guiltily recalled how fatigued Merlin was already, his feet dragging and shoulders dropped, even before he’d set off to clear the last of the fallen trees.

When Merlin finally emerged through a fan of ferns the colour was completely gone from his already pallid skin. His lips were usually pink, delicious and inviting, and not this grey hue that made him look alarmingly ghostly in the fading daylight.

“ _Merlin,_ come and sit down.” Arthur leapt up to guide him towards the pile of twigs and branches that sat mockingly dull and brown in the centre of their camp.

“I think I should light the fire first, eh?” He managed a weak smile and before Arthur could stop him, his eyes glimmered for a moment, enough to ignite a flaring blaze just as the sun disappeared below the dappled branches in the distance.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Merlin pressed his finger to Arthur’s lips and whispered, “Child’s play,” before promptly keeling over into Arthur’s outstretched arms.

Arthur laid Merlin on the bedroll nearest the fire, wrapped him tightly in his cloak, pushed back the hair from his forehead and tucked one stray curl behind his ear muttering _idiot_ under his breath with unbridled affection. He was starving but he sucked his stomach towards his ribs, ignoring its protests and reclined the unconscious Merlin against his chest, planting a sure kiss to the top of his head. With the darkness fallen all around them, Merlin’s features were lit only by the flickering glow of the fire, burning brighter and warmer from the magic that fed its flames. Like this it was hard to believe, looking down at Merlin’s face, soft and slack and deathly white but for the curve of his dark lashes, that he was so _powerful._ For all Arthur’s attempts to toughen Merlin up, to make his reflexes sharper and his muscles stronger, he’d only had a modicum of success and fortunately had never chased the sweetness from Merlin’s face, even when it was drawn tight in a scowl or burning with anger. When Merlin slept it was impossible not to be engulfed by how deceptively innocent and fragile he looked and by the overwhelming need to hold him close and boast to the universe, “He’s mine, you know, all mine.”

Merlin stirred, his lashes fluttering open and closed, settling at open as he tilted his head up slowly to look at Arthur. “I’m sweating like buggery under here.” He pushed the cloak back and sat up. 

“How are you feeling?”

Merlin rolled his shoulders with a barely-concealed wince, and with a light shake of his head said, “Um, alright. Just hungry.” 

This wasn’t a great sign, but not a portent of doom either. 

There was an inverse relationship between the amount Merlin complained and how well he really felt. If he whined like a baby that his feet hurt not hours after they set out on a hunt, Arthur would ignore it, or make some derogatory remark to wind him up a bit more. But when Merlin had come down with lung fever, during the winter just passed, he’d told Arthur it was nothing, just a cough. In the days that followed, as Merlin deteriorated and faded faster than the setting sun, Arthur had secretly cried for fear that Merlin might die before he got the chance to tell him that he’d been wrong: there was a man worth his tears. 

This ill was probably no more than _aching like hell and completely knackered_ and Arthur was pretty sure he could fix that.

“Here, eat. And you need to drink something.”

Arthur laid out the provisions on his lap, and tried to press morsels into Merlin’s mouth. 

“Arthur, stop it. I can feed myself.” 

“Your hands are shaking.” Arthur tried not to frown, not to cosset Merlin and feed him like a helpless child. Instead, he gripped Merlin’s hands in his and held his fingers to his lips. “Let me, please.” Merlin was the furthest thing from helpless, yet he was weak and hungry and not immune from slicing off his fingers with his food knife. 

Merlin nodded, his face quiet and fond, and took a small hunk of bread from Arthur’s lap. 

They silently ate their fill of bread and cheese, dried strips of beef and sharp green apples that Arthur cut into slices with his knife and sprinkled with salt from a small pouch from his pack. They drank watered ale to quench their thirst and swigged a few mouthfuls of sweet mead to warm their insides, not that they needed it. Still, the flush that spread up and settled on Merlin’s cheeks was worth every drop.

It was getting colder. The leaves hadn’t yet changed colour, but there was a crispness, a bite in the air, that promised autumn was just around the corner. 

“Where does it hurt?” Arthur could see Merlin drooping, frayed around the sharp edges of his shoulders. 

“It doesn’t hurt. Not exactly. I just feel sort of empty.”

“You just ate half your weight in bread and cheese.”

“Not that kind of empty. Like ... like ...” 

Arthur saw him straining, his brow slightly furrowed. He must have felt truly fatigued to be unable to find the words. 

“Lie down.”

Arthur pulled his cloak and the extra blankets they’d brought around his shoulders and draped himself half over Merlin, wrapping and tucking the layers of wool under their bodies. With barely a breath between them, Arthur pressed soft kisses along Merlin’s jaw, to his lips, his nose and his eyelids while beneath the covers he snaked his hand beneath the hem of Merlin’s tunic and settled his palm wide under his back, where Merlin’s skin was soft and warm. 

“What you did today, Merlin, was heroic.”

Merlin’s laugh came out as a puff of breath. Arthur waited for a smart retort, anxious for it as a sign of Merlin’s revitalisation. It wasn’t forthcoming. After a pause, Merlin smiled, languid and unhurried, his chest heaving a deep breath and his eyes sparkling with glimmers of gold in the deep blue. 

“I didn’t just move the trees. I pushed the water back too, down through the earth.”

Arthur brushed his thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone, felt the heat tingling beneath his fingertips. This was more incredible than ever. “You moved over sixty trees today, by yourself, and you pushed back the water? _How? Why?”_

“I thought the trees to a different place. The water, I had to be more persuasive, I had to ask. Nicely. The plants near the water asked me to do it, so they wouldn’t drown.”

There was no sensible response to that. “No wonder you’re exhausted.” 

“I’m feeling better, a lot better.” 

Merlin pulled Arthur down and slid his tongue inside his mouth, swiping a deep kiss while he tangled his fingers through Arthur’s hair and snuck one of his skinny legs between Arthur’s thighs. Pressed close, under warm blankets and chilly air, Arthur nosed and kissed Merlin again and again, alternately fleeting and gentle, firm and possessive. 

Merlin hummed his approval, his heart beating counter-time against Arthur’s arm, his inhale and exhale mirroring Arthur’s own. Arthur felt him swelling, warming as Merlin wrapped himself around Arthur. They settled to an unrushed rhythm and Merlin murmured softly, “Like that, yes, like that.” 

It was ridiculous and unbelievable, miraculous and enough to make Arthur laugh into Merlin’s mouth with unfettered pride and delight: that Merlin who could move trees and rivers could be moved and _undone_ by Arthur, and Arthur alone.

“Everything you want. Anything.”

“Then I want it all and a thousand kisses more.” Merlin’s voice was hoarse with arousal, his eyes wide and smiling.

Arthur buried his face in Merlin’s neck and sucked a bruise until Merlin quivered and rolled his hips. They touched and pressed, gripped and grasped, and with stuttered breaths held onto each other until they were shaking and spent. 

In the morning, they would head back to Camelot, but tonight while the stars twinkled, while the soil dried, the plants breathed and the water fell down the hillside, Arthur was going to cover Merlin in a thousand delicate kisses.


End file.
